


Between the Medals and the Madness

by RedChucks



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: But he has a trash mouth, Friendship, Gen, Post Series, Teen Rating for swearing, Welcome to the Madness (Yuri!!! on Ice), Yuri is a tiny child in need of help and friends, and alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedChucks/pseuds/RedChucks
Summary: "Yuri glared at the iPhone being thrust in his face, trying his damndest to keep his shoulders from hunching up whilst surrounded on all sides by his fans. The last thing he needed right then was to look small. It was already bad enough that so many of his fans (who were all around his own age) were fast out-growing him, he didn’t need to hunch up and make it worse than it was."Set around the events of the 'Welcome to the Madness' manga, fleshing out that night from Yuri's POV, how he deals with the win, with loneliness, with the idea that he actually has a friend and what that means.
Relationships: Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 14
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

Yuri glared at the iPhone being thrust in his face, trying his damnedest to keep his shoulders from hunching up whilst surrounded on all sides by his fans. The last thing he needed right then was to look small. It was already bad enough that so many of his fans (who were all around his own age) were fast out-growing him, he didn’t need to hunch up and make it worse than it was.

Off to the side somewhere he could hear laughter and doubled down on his glare, grinding his teeth and trying to ignore the mocking voices yelling over the shrieks of his fans, telling him not to worry, that once puberty kicked in he’d be much happier to pose with a gaggle of girls who were all absolutely smitten with him. He didn’t have to work on the scowl that deepened on his face after that. The voices joking and laughing were speaking english and had Canadian accents and made him want to punch a wall, instead he doubled down and refused to turn around. He didn’t want to look at their dumb faces.

People were always smirking down at him and beginning sentences with the words: “When puberty hits, you’ll...” and “Just you wait for puberty, then you’ll...” and “Everything will change once puberty starts!” Did they not understand that he was fifteen years old? He’d had his first zit at age twelve. His voice had broken at thirteen and was deeper than most of the seventeen and eighteen-year-olds he competed against. He wasn’t a child! But no one seemed to get it! They were dense! They were stupid! But Yuri got it. He’d done his googling. He’d been waiting desperately for another growth spurt when he looked it up so he now knew that most teenage boys had their biggest growth spurts between the ages of twelve and fifteen. He’d thrown his phone at the wall when he read that and had screamed at it when it bounced and landed on the floor unharmed. Yuri was already taller than his father had been, and a head taller than his mother, rest her soul. It was the unfortunate result of being the progeny of Olympic gymnasts he supposed, and the best he could hope for in the next few years was to fill out in the chest and shoulders somewhat, like in the old photos of his father and uncles.

Yuri sighed as he raised his middle finger at the cameras in front of him, wishing Lilia would let him grow out his patchy facial hair a bit. Then people would see that he wasn’t a child. Sure, puberty hadn’t hit him so much as gently tugged at his ankles, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. In fact, the growth spurt he’d had in just the last year had staggered him and completely changed the way he moved on and off the ice and it pissed him off that Yakov seemed to have been the only person in the world to notice. Those extra inches in height had been what convinced his coach that he was ready for quads, because his leg strength and ankle stability had increased as his body matured.

Still, everyone figured since he was short and not interested in his infuriating fans that he was somehow... underdeveloped. Like there was something lacking about him. Pursing his lips, Yuri tried to convince himself that he was shaking with rage rather than shame or panic as the ‘Yuri’s Angels’ crowded even closer around him. There was nothing lacking about him and he had proved that. He’d won gold at the Grand Prix Finals in his first year in the senior division and broken one of Victor’s world records as well. So why didn’t he feel any different? And why did his fans have to press themselves so close? It made him want to puke. And not because of any puberty crap. Yuri didn’t like anyone being grabby with him, he got enough of that from coaches and choreographers and physios and he put up with it from them for the sake of being the best, but he wasn’t about to let it slide from a bunch of girls.

A hand suddenly grabbing his butt made him jump, his wide-eyed shock caught on camera, and Yuri decided he’d had more than enough for the night. Darting out of range, face burning at the cackles and giggles of his fans - who knew exactly what had just happened - Yuri tried to look as if he’d just had enough of paying fan service. He was known for being difficult and antisocial, wasn’t he? A loud-mouthed introvert? And it came in handy in situations like these.

Grabbing out his sunglasses he jammed them to his face, seething at the fact that they didn’t sit right when he was wearing god-damn cat ears. He hated the things but refused to remove them. Taking off the cat ears would mean admitting that he was wearing them and he didn’t feel like doing that, not in front of so many people. Not in front of JJ’s people. Instead he threw up one last peace sign for his fans, ignoring the open, mocking, laughter from the so-called adults, and headed toward the back of the hotel, away from the lobby and the hoard of people and their stupid, grabby, hands.

He was almost home free when the unmistakable teasing voice of JJ reached him over the rest of the crowd. He froze mid-step, shoulders involuntarily hunched and fingers clawed, refusing to turn and face the mocking words being proclaimed for all the world to hear.

“Aw, Yuri! Don’t go!” JJ called, laughing. “Your bedtime isn’t for another half hour at least, right? You won gold, you should be out celebrating with your frie-“ he guffawed at his own ‘joke’ as he cut off the word deliberately before continuing. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. Princess Yuri doesn’t have friends. But maybe your little fans want to braid your hair for you. Or are you off to ballet practice? Huh, Prima?”

At any other time Yuri would have rounded on him and started yelling. Either that or just straight out pounced on the dickhead and started biting and scratching, but he couldn’t turn when his face was so red, his cheeks practically burning with what was unmistakably a mix of rage and shame. Instead he bit his lip and stalked away, head down, and ducked out of the hotel lobby as quickly as he could, hoping that no one would follow him, hating that the laughter did.

Once out of sight Yuri pressed his back against the hotel wall, the cool marble calming him; the smooth, hard surface reminding him of untouched ice, the one place he felt truly comfortable. The elevators were opposite and for a moment he considered simply heading up to his room and settling down for a night of movies and room service. But it didn’t feel right. He’d just won the Grand Prix Final for God’s sake! He’d been working toward it for years! JJ was right, god damn him: He should be celebrating! But other than the fans who he’d just run away from, who was there to celebrate with? Katsudon and Victor had already retired to their hotel room to be gross and lovey-dovey together (not that Yuri wanted their company anyway, no way, not at all) and he couldn’t call or Skype anyone worth talking to because the time difference meant that Yuuko and the rest of her family were well and truly asleep by now. If he waited a few hours he might be able to call them to say good morning but that felt way too needy. Mila had already left for a night out, dressed in an outfit that, on any other night, Yakov would have had major issues with. But tonight, it seemed, their coaches were willing to be lenient. If only Yuri had someone to celebrate with.

There was always Otabek. Yuri shivered at the thought. He’d never had anyone say for certain that they were his friend before, or say to his face that they enjoyed his company, but Otabeck had said both, and it filled Yuri’s chest with too many emotions that he couldn’t name let alone deal with. Most of his life he’d just been called a bratty punk, and he’d eventually done his best to live up to that, burying his other emotions down as deep as they could go until anger was the central force in his life, a battering ram and wall all in one, keeping him safe and alone.

That wall had started to crumble in the last year, even before Otabek had swooped in to his life with his motorcycle and soft words, making it harder to keep the emotions at bay with his reminders of being a boy of only ten with eyes that had already seen far too much pain and loss and horror. Yuri felt his cheeks flame red again as he remembered how he had broken down after his free skate, overwhelmed by feelings he had refused to acknowledge for so long. He wondered whether Yuuko and the triplets were proud of him. Whether Grandpa was proud of him. Whether Mama was proud of him.

Otabek had told him he deserved to be proud of his performance, with a hand placed stoically on Yuri’s shoulder, but his eyes had been distant and there hadn’t been time to say much else before Yakov and Lilia appeared to jostle him off in front of the cameras and microphones, the weight of their hands on his shoulders instilling a very different emotion within Yuri’s erratically beating heart. Duty. He had a duty to his country and his sport, and showing emotion wasn’t part of that. In his private life they tolerated his anger but in front of the media and at official events he was expected to be stoic and to represent Russia with dignity. No tears. No smiles. No temper tantrums. Yuri knew the rules.

The reporters had asked Yuri how he felt, how it felt to win the Grand Prix final at the age of only fifteen, and Yuri had found himself without a response. His eyes had flickered up to Yakov and he’d been grateful when the old man had stepped in to state that Yuri was thrilled, that representing Russia was a great honour, and that he intended to strive continually for greater excellence and perfection in his skating. Lilia agreed, telling the assembled press that Yuri’s talent was a testament to his training, hard work, and passion. All Yuri had needed to do was nod and agree that he felt pride, and a desire to work even harder.

At the time Yuri had been thankful for the assistance. His mind had gone blank in that moment and he had felt himself beginning to shake - it had been a relief to have someone else there to answer the questions for him. Now he was just angry. Angry at himself for seizing up in front of the press, angry at his emotional display at the end of his free skate that made the reporters think they could ask him about his feelings, and at Yakov and Lilia for acting like his parents when they had no right to. They weren’t his parents, he thought furiously, he didn’t have parents and he didn’t need them. He’d been an emancipated minor for nearly two years, since the shit storm with his last coach. He didn’t need adults to tell him what to do or not do. He was Yuri-fucking-Plisetsky!

Turning his head slowly, wishing that he actually felt the fire behind the words in his head, Yuri looked down the marble corridor to the private hotel bar. He could see the outline of Yakov’s shoulders and as he sat at the bar and Lilia’s silhouette sat across from him. Yuri glared. He definitely wasn’t pouting or looking in their direction longingly. No, no, no, no, no.

Checking to make sure that no one else was around, Yuri slouched his way to the bar. Perhaps if Yakov and Lilia were in a good mood they’d let him have some celebratory champagne.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Yuri wants to be taken seriously but it's not working out the way he planned.

Grown-ups were boring. Yuri scowled deeply before he realised what he’d just thought and shook his head angrily at himself. He was a grown-up too (practically) and he definitely wasn’t boring. Only old old grown-ups like Yakov and Lilia were boring.

Looking down at the mocktail in his hands, glorified fruit juice really because Lilia had insisted that regardless of age, a Prima Ballerina did not soil their body with drink during a season, Yuri bit his cheek. He wasn’t boring was he? He couldn’t be. He was the Russian Punk. Sure, he wasn’t in a band like stupid JJ, and he didn’t have a motorcycle like Otabek, and he wasn’t Nikiforov’s chosen one like Katsuki, or popular like Phichit or a playboy like Chris but... that didn’t make him boring, did it? Just because he was focused purely on skating and winning right now and didn’t have some catchy gimmick?

Yuri gulped down half of the overpriced drink and coughed as the orange pulp stuck in his throat. He was Not boring. He had... his cat... and a ton of Instagram followers. And a Grand Prix gold medal... and... Oh, god, he was boring! He did the same thing every single day and when he finally achieved one of his life goals he had no one to celebrate with. Which was probably why Otabek hadn’t answered any of his texts.

Yuri had considered calling his friend but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Answering phone calls was bad enough, but making them... the idea of it made him want to puke. What if his call was rejected? What if it went to voicemail! What if the call was accepted and he actually had to talk to someone!? Unthinkable. So he hadn’t tried calling Otabek, even after his texts went unanswered. Otabek had told him they were friends, three times, and Yuri believed him. He was probably just busy. Unless he thought Yuri was boring too...

“I’ve been thinking of changing up my exhibition piece,” he said loudly, trying to sound serious and mature. Lilia and Yakov didn’t look up from the bar, didn’t so much as flinch at his announcement. Rude! Yuri fumed and went to run his fingers through his hair, only then discovering that he was still wearing the Damn Cat Ears! He tossed them away angrily, lounging back with his foot on one of the bar’s low tables, glowering. Why weren’t they paying attention? Usually when he made that sort of announcement they started yelling at him and trying to overrule him, so why were they suddenly so blasé? Did they not care anymore? now that he’d won gold and made them look good? They were his coaches, they were supposed to care about what he did, especially on the ice. Settling his shoulders and smoothing out his features, Yuri tried again. “Or maybe I just won’t do the exhibition skate at all... Yeah, I think that’s what I’ll do. I mean, won’t do. Whatever.” He leaned back, trying to look confident, and to make his chest look broader. Yakov just glared at him but Lilia at least had the decency to raise an eyebrow. Yah, that’s right, Yuri thought. I’m not the boring one, they’re the boring ones. I’m interesting. “Ugh,” he sighed dramatically, pleased to finally have their attention. “I don’t wanna do the exhibition! No, no, no! Do not want to!” Yakov grunted, the corner of his eye beginning to twitch, and Yuri fought back the grin that wanted to slip across his lips. Irritating Yakov was fun, even if it wasn’t technically a very grown-up thing to do. He threw his head back and carried on in a sing-song voice. “I don’t want to skate that program!”

“Yuri!” Yakov eventually snapped and Yuri looked up, hopeful that he’d finally coaxed his coach in to talking to him about his routine and what he could do to change things up a bit, to seem less boring, less of a child. Instead Yakov growled at him from out the side of his mouth, doing his best impression of a whisper, which he had never been much good at. “If you’re going to whine about your free program performance you can do it in the privacy of your own room! You’re spoiling my drinking with Lilia!”

That final, hissed, sentence was definitely supposed to be for Yuri’s ears only, and it definitely wasn’t if Lilia’s slight smirk was anything to go by. Gross, Yuri thought. Just gross. They thought he didn’t know what they were doing but he did, and it was disgusting. They’d been making lovey-dovey eyes at each other for weeks, acting all polite to each other - using sappy nick names! It was disgusting. But that, he reminded himself furiously, was besides the point! Hadn’t Yakov been listening to a word he said? He wasn’t whining about the skate he’d just done, he was whining about the one he was supposed to do in just under twenty-four hours! And he wasn’t whining! He didn’t whine. Kids whined and he wasn’t a kid. Fuming, he turned to Lilia, hoping to receive something more constructive from her, but her face, as ever gave nothing away.

“Am I to take that to mean that you no longer wish to skate to ‘Angel of the Fire Festival,’ the piece that I choreographed for you?” Her voice sounded almost bored but Yuri knew better than to push. Maybe she was bored, maybe she was drunk, maybe she was cataloguing everything she disliked about the way he was sitting and the way he was dressed in order to give him a tongue lashing later. There was no way to know with Lilia and it was always best to play it safe. Yuri had never been much good at that, so gave her an exaggerated shrug instead, contorting his body until it looked anything but balletic or beautiful. Nothing annoyed Lilia more than an unattractive pose. Her lip twitched and Yuri felt a swell of vindictive pleasure flood through his veins, but Lilia’s voice gave nothing away. “You’ve been skating that routine at all the other competitions throughout the season. What could you possibly find lacking in it now?”

Yuri huffed, wishing she’d just yell at him already. How did he explain things without insulting Lilia or seeming childish? What he wanted to do was to tell her as loudly and plainly as possible that he wished to do something new, something impressive, something which stupid, piggy, Katsudon and shithead, fucking, JJ would never think of doing. He wanted to do something with a bit of edge. His fire fairy costume just made him look like some sort of autumn leaf Puck or Peter Pan and cemented the idea that he was the Russian Fairy rather than the Russian Punk. He couldn’t say all of that to Lilia though. She would just come back at him with some cutting, embarrassing remark, and he’d already been embarrassed enough for one day - crying at the end of his free skate and the scene with his fans in the lobby - embarrassing didn’t even cover it.

So instead he swallowed his anger and tried to affect the same, lofty disinterest that his choreographer was showing him. “It’s not that there’s anything really lacking, just...”

A second later his chair was clattering to the floor, the sound of it mixing with his racing footsteps. Any thought of convincing Lilia was old news, a waste of time and breath when he needed all of the air in his lungs to sprint out of the hotel through the side entrance and yell out the name of his very favourite human.

“Otabek! Hey, Otabek!” He tried not to grin too broadly as his friend turned at the sound of his name, tried to play it cool the way Otabek always did with him, but it took effort and he knew he was failing. He was smiling too much. “Otabek! Oi, Otabek!” He couldn’t help but grin.”You goin’ out somewhere?”

“Yah,” Otabek said softly, his voice muffled by the thick collar of his jacket but still loud enough to send shivers down Yuri’s spine. He was just so cool. “An acquaintance of mine is DJing at a club nearby. So I thought I’d stop by.”

Otabek shrugged, like it was a totally normal thing to say and not the number one coolest thing Yuri had ever heard anyone say ever, and there was no way he could control his excitement or his volume in response.

“SERIOUSLY!?!? Lemme come too!!!”

Even by his usual standards Yuri knew he was being too loud, not to mention childish. He’d been told every day of his life that he was loud and obnoxious and emotional, too loud for someone who claimed to dislike being around most people. Victor had teased him too often that he was an extrovert in denial, and every shouted, ‘fuck off’ was apparently confirmation of the fact. He always laughed that Yuri would love human company if he only knew how to actually make friends. So rude! Yuri hated the thought that Victor was right. He didn’t like people, didn’t need friends, didn’t care that no one ever showed any interest in being friends with him, or being friends - it was just how he was. He didn’t need anyone.

But Otabek was different. Otabek was someone he actually liked, someone near to him in age, someone who had approached him, someone who Wanted to be his friend. And he was someone who knew a real life, actual DJ and was heading out to an actual nightclub. He tried not to read too much in to Otabek’s stare or the way his eyebrows lowered as he took in Yuri’s excitement and fidgeting. He’d only known the guy for three days and he was rubbish at reading facial expressions anyway, so he just took a few steps forward, in to Otabek’s personal space, and gave him his most hopeful, wide-eyed smile. It didn’t work often anymore, not like when he was a kid. Most of the people he interacted with knew that he was a complete brat, but he’d never tried it on Otabek, so there was still a small chance it might work. They were friends after all, Otabek had said so, three times, and friends went out to celebrate together, didn’t they? Especially when one of them had just won the first gold of their senior skating career. It would just be cruel if his only friend ditched him on a night like this, right? But Otabek didn’t seem affected by Yuri’s smile, instead he was frowning, looking at Yuri with those intense, unreadable eyes.

“Yuri,” he asked slowly, his gaze traveling down and up Yuri’s body in a way which most definitely didn’t make him shiver in a good way. It made him feel small. Insignificant. Childish. “How old are you now?”

Yuri considered fibbing. It would be pointless of course, because his age was a matter of public record - he was the youngest skater to ever win gold in the Grand Prix Final at only fifteen years old, but he was damned if he wanted to be told even once more that he was a child yet to reach puberty. Not that he thought for a minute that Otabek would do something like that. Otabek was his friend. Otabek knew he wasn’t a kid.

“I’m fifteen,” he said with some pride, because deep down it really did feel like an achievement to have made it so far, and to be able to think of the future in any real way when he’d never even thought it was possible, when in his head he’d never even considered living to his sixteenth birthday. “I’ll be sixteen next March!” It was three months away. Less, actually, more like two months and two weeks, not that Yuri was counting down the days. Then he’d be old. Old enough to... Yuri blinked, pushing the thoughts down deep in his gut. 

“Yah,” was all Beka said before turning to walk toward his bike, Yuri working hard to copy his stride and not skip in his excitement as they walked together down the dark, frosty street. Going out with Otabek to a club was exciting, and definitely not boring or childish, and was definitely better than whatever stupid JJ was up to with his stupid girlfriend, or whatever lovey-dovey crap Victor and Katsudon were doing up in their hotel room. They’d only hung around for two minutes to congratulate him when they all reached the hotel, hadn’t even bothered to give an embarrassing toast or go on about how proud of him they were of him. Not that Yuri wanted that! He was furious with Katsudon for beating his score in the free skate, and with Victor for deciding to return to skating after all his stupid drama. He didn’t want them to celebrate with him. He didn’t care that they’d ditched him and left him on his own. He absolutely did not care! But now Yuri was going to celebrate his win in a far cooler way than either of them could ever imagine. That would show them all that he wasn’t a child they needed to coddle and look down on.

Otabek swung his leg over the motorbike and revved the engine, sending a thrill through Yuri’s veins. Otabek looked so cool on his motorbike, cooler than any other figure skater ever. Cooler than any other person. One day maybe he would be able to get a motorbike of his own, Yuri thought with a wicked grin. Yakov would probably have a coronary just from screaming at him for wanting to do something so dangerous but Yuri didn’t care any more. He wanted to live a little, maybe even have a life beyond skating. He’d never considered that before. A life beyond skating... that definitely wouldn’t be boring. That would be cool. Undeniably cool.

The screech of tyres snapped Yuri out of his daydream, but instead of looking up to see Otabek beckoning for him to hold on tight, he watched, gaping, as the motorcycle sped away, Otabek with it, calling over his shoulder that he was sorry and that Yuri was just too young to take along to a night club. They could see each other later. A second later Otabek was gone, and soon enough even the sound of the bike had faded, leaving Yuri alone in the silence of a dark street. Alone.

Yuri was dumbstruck. He’d watched a lot of people walk away from him over the years: his dad, his mum, his grandmother, three sets of foster parents, his first coach, Victor... he knew that some time soon Yakov and Lilia would leave too. It was just something people did to him, they got sick of him, because he was a brat and he was annoying and he was basically unlovable. Yuri had accepted that as the truth years ago. He had even considered the fact that Otabek would leave. It had haunted him as he tried to sleep every night since they’d met, but he hadn’t thought it would happen so soon. He’d thought they were getting along well. Yuri hadn’t even insulted him yet or anything. He’d been trying really hard.

As the echo of the motorbike faded completely, so that Yuri couldn’t even pretend he could hear it’s echo bouncing off the empty streets, he finally came out of his stupor, only to be flooded with rage, worse than the usual sort, worse than what he’d felt during his final skate when imagining Katsudon retiring just because he’d beaten Victor’s record. This rage was overwhelming, was enough to bring tears back to his eyes, and in the absence of anything to throw he let it out in the only way he knew how, by screaming so loud his throat hurt.

“Otabek! What the fuck!?” he shouted, tears pricking painfully at his eyes. “You’re abandoning me on a night when I’m supposed to be celebrating? On a night when I’m all messed up inside?! When I need someone to talk to? And you call yourself my friend?!” He felt his breath hitch, voice rising in pitch as his emotions raced away from his control, eyes itching in the cold night air even as his nose and throat began to burn. “We’re through, dammit! You hear me, Otabek? Through! You were supposed to be my friend!”

A tiny part of him hoped that Otabek might actually hear him and turn back. He couldn’t imagine the stoic Kazakhstani apologising but he still hoped, at the bottom of his soul, that Otabek would come back for him. But no one ever came back. Not for Yuri Plisetsky. Not even those who made promises or said they were family or friend. It was stupid to hope. Even grandpa hadn’t been able to accept Yuri back to live with him after his cancer went in to remission. Yuri was just too much of a handful, it was a known fact, even if his grandpa had refused to admit it. But this time Yuri had really tried. He had tried so hard. And he’d actually let himself believe that Otabek was telling the truth when he said they were friends. It was stupid. Trusting others was stupid.

“Shit,” he said dramatically to the dark street. He had wanted to believe Otabek so badly. Otabek, who said he appreciated Yuri’s stubborn determination and had actually smiled as he’d listened to Yuri talk. Well, if it was stubbornness Otabek admired, then Yuri would show him stubbornness. He’d track Otabek down somehow and then... we’ll he wasn’t sure what they would do then, but it would be something, he was sure. He’d show Otabek. He’d show him... whatever it was that friends did to ensure that friendship lasted longer than three days. “Besides,” he mumbled to himself. “If I lose Otabek then who’ll be left to listen to me bitch and moan about everyone else? Who’ll be left to-“ he glanced up in horror. “Oh no!”

The stampede of Yuri’s Angels coming toward him down the street was nearly enough to make him freeze up in terror. Instead, just before the first of his fans could reach him, Yuri set off at a sprint. Normally he knew better than to move at such a speed on unfamiliar ground and without knowing how long he would have to keep it up, but avoiding the Angels was a special circumstance and he ran like his life depended on it, cold December air burning in his lungs, and fear burning through his veins.

“OTABEK!! Help! Heeeelp!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri isn't too skilled when it comes to interacting with his fellow skaters but they come to an arrangement eventually.  
> Or, Mila and the gang come to the rescue.

Yuri hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut, pretending stubbornly that it was the cold night air making him sniff and not anything even approaching emotion. He was starting to feel something beyond frustration, something that he didn’t have a name for, something that made his stomach twist in painful, strangling, nauseating knots. It was horrible! He’d managed to lose his rabid fans pretty quickly, they weren’t elite athletes like him after all (and he’d heard several of them complain that if they didn’t turn back they’d be out after curfew and would get in trouble with their parents) but he hadn’t managed to find Otabek either, and now he wasn’t entirely sure where his hotel was or what he was going to do next. It was stupid, and worse, it made him feel stupid.

Worst of all, he’d just been thrown out of yet another nightclub - manhandled like some sort of kitten by another oversized gorilla of a bouncer - and his humiliation had been witnessed by half of the senior figure skaters in the stupid city. As if his night couldn’t get any worse; Yuri wanted to crawl in to the gutter and die.

Humiliation wasn’t something Yuri had ever accepted easily, his pride had kept him standing on more than one occasion during his childhood, both figuratively and literally, and it burned him from within to know that he had been seen in such a situation. Everyone he’d defeated - everyone he was better than - was now laughing at him and Yuri couldn’t take it. It wasn’t fair! And he didn’t care anymore if that was childish or silly or immature. He’d just won the Grand Prix Final for fucks sake, it should be the best night of his life! Instead he’d just skinned his palm being physically tossed out of a crummy nightclub, had been told to run along home by the bouncers at three different clubs, patronised and insulted by people he’d beaten fair and square, teased and molested by his godawful fans, and ignored, brushed off, and ditched by his best friend. His best friend! And to top it all off he was surrounded by Mila’s stupid, sub-par skating pals.

He was miserable. Too miserable to even tell Mila’s stupid Italian girlfriend to stop touching his hair before he bit her hand off. He didn’t like how nice she was being. It made him want to be able to tell them what was wrong and have their sympathy, even though that was pathetic. He’d seen Mila with Sara, the way they celebrated each other’s successes and he knew that what he was feeling when he looked at the two of them was jealousy. They were out together two days after Mila had taken silver and Sara had taken gold - genuinely happy together! - and yet Yuri had no one, had nothing, and it sucked. And to top off the humiliation they were cooing over him like he was some stupid child, pouting their lips and ruffling his hair like he was an upset, overtired, toddler that they felt sorry for, and he knew that soon enough he wouldn’t be able to hold in his temper. It was too painful. It was too difficult. He wanted what they had too much to hold it in. And then it got worse.

“You’re looking for Otabek, huh?” Mila asked, letting out a little laugh that made Yuri want to dig himself a grave right there on the pavement. “We didn’t see him inside... Why don’t you just call him? You’re friends, aren’t you?”

Yuri felt his heart drop like a stone in to his stomach at the question and held tight to his legs, knees up under his chin, trying to hold the pain at bay before it burst out of his chest like some hideous, unstoppable monster. He couldn’t believe he was going to actually attempt honesty, especially with Mila and Sara. He barely even knew Sara! And Mila would one hundred per cent tease him. But the truth of it all just hurt too much and he didn’t feel like he was capable of keeping it in anymore.

“I tried,” he admitted, feeling more defeated than if he’d come in dead last in a competition. “He didn’t pick up.” 

He let his hair swing down over his eyes, hoping to hide the tears that were now so close to falling. Mila had seen him panic over phone calls before or, more realistically, she’d seen him chuck tantrums over having to make phone calls - yelling and flat out refusing and hyperventilating and locking himself in storage cupboards - and she’d seen him throw his phone more times than either of them could count. She just probably didn’t know she was witnessing a unique Yuri-brand panic attack. It was the whole reason Yuri had a shock-proof phone case and heavy duty screen protector. If he wasn’t throwing his phone he was biting it of head butting it. The damn thing was just such a source of panic and frustration and anger, despite the fact that Yuri was still so attached to it that he panicked when he couldn’t find it. 

“He didn’t pick up... I tried five times.”

Yuri hated how small and vulnerable his voice was. It was stupid. He shouldn’t sound so vulnerable, so young. He was neither of those things. He’d just won gold in the seniors division. He was an adult. It was bad enough that Mila and Sara were treating him like some sort of baby, he didn’t have to help them out. He growled when he heard Mila’s footsteps step closer, felt Sara’s hand stroke his hair again. 

Mila never treated him nicely, she teased and poked and pushed until Yuri blew up at her, and then she carried on teasing all the same, giggling at him and gossiping, as if she enjoyed Yuri calling her names, as if they were friends. It was confusing; it drove him nuts. She was as bad as Victor and that alone set Yuri’s teeth on edge. He didn’t think he could deal with that sort of cheerfulness right then. He was having a rubbish enough night without Mila sending his brain through the blender but, unfortunately, it seemed like Mila intended to do just that. 

“Ooh,” she cooed. “Poor lonely little Yuri. Did he get sick of your trash mouth already? Not everyone is willing to put up with being called names like ‘hag’ and ‘piggy’, you know. If you want someone to like you, you need to actually put in some effort, you know?”

Yuri clenched his jaw and stared out at the dark street, forcing himself to stay calm. He’d already admitted too much and Mila was just trying to get a rise out of him, was just trying to start drama, he knew it. She lived for drama and usually Yuri was an easy mark but he didn’t want to be poked at. He wasn’t some little brother she could push around.

“I don’t think Otabek would even go to this sort of club,” Sara said behind him, her up beat, sing-song voice quieter and more thoughtful than usual. “This place is for the hardcore clubbers.” He felt rather than heard her shrug. “I don’t think ‘Barceloneta’ is the kind of club you’d find him at. He’s so quiet, so serious. A loner, like you. Are you sure he’s even out? He doesn’t seem the type.”

“He’s out,” Yuri sighed. “He just didn’t want to hang out with me. He’s seeing a friend DJ. He won’t answer my texts. He’s not... picking up... he-” 

Tutting at his own words, Yuri ducked his head, pleased when Sara’s hand retreated from his hair but far from pleased at how much he’d accidentally revealed. He didn’t want their pity. He didn’t need their pity.

“Ah, I see,” Mila said with a softness that Yuri was sure he’d never heard before. She sounded almost nice. “Want to hang out with us, then?”

Yuri paused for a moment, mind blank and yet, it seemed, rushing furiously fast at the same time. He could hear it in his ears. It was terrifying. He didn’t want to be alone with it and Mila was giving him an out, but-

“Hell no.”

“Hey, Russian Fairy! You’ve got the exhibition tomorrow, don’t ya?” Yuri didn’t turn around to see who it was talking. It was one of Mila’s friends, Nekola or Crispino, speaking terrible english, made worse by a definite drunken slurring. It made Yuri want to throw something, kick something, smash something, but in front of his eyes was the dark, empty street. He still wasn’t entirely sure of where he was, or where his hotel was, and picking a fight with some dumb idiot could end him up in serious trouble. He was more mature than that, surely. But the idiot behind him wasn’t done taunting yet. “Hey! Snot-nosed brats need to get to bed early! Get on home kiddy! Your babysitter’s probably looking for you!”

Yuri ground his teeth. He wouldn’t rise to it. He wouldn’t- “Pipe down, idiot! What would you even know about medalist exhibition skates? What are you even doing here when you didn’t make the cut, loser?” He sniffed, rage flooding his chest that the action might give the moron behind him proof that he really was a snot-nosed brat. He wasn’t. His nose was running because of the cold, nothing more. And he definitely didn’t need a babysitter. He wasn’t some little kid, he wasn’t- “AH!”

Instinct saved Yuri from crashing dangerously to the ground as he was suddenly lifted straight up by one large and oafish hand. He tensed his core and grabbed at the wrist of the idiot who’d just lifted him without warning and attempted to keep his balance. He’d seen enough lift related injuries over the years, Mila had even dropped him on his ass and cost him a day’s practice, and the moron below him - bloody Nekola! - was a singles skater and not even trained in pairs as far as Yuri knew; the last thing he needed was an injury when he was plotting to change up his exhibition skate. He wanted to create something interesting and new and glorious. He couldn’t do that with a twisted ankle or broken wrist. He sue the idiot if he got injured.

“Put me down!” he yelled, glad that at least his voice remained steady. “Cut it out already!”

But instead of being lowered to the ground he just heard laughter and Sara’s mocking, giddy, laughter. “Emil! Emil! He wants to be put down! That fountain looks like it’d feel great!”

“It sure does,” the idiot holding him guffawed, and Yuri swore quietly as the arm he was gripping swayed. The guy had impressive arm strength, Yuri would admit to that, but he still didn’t trust the guy to walk across the small plaza, and he definitely had no desire to be dumped in some fountain.

“Are you fucking crazy?” he screamed. He couldn’t deny the hint of desperation that had crept in to his voice at seeing the icy water. He wasn’t dressed warmly enough for the night as it was and he couldn’t afford to get sick. Not to mention the fact that his risk of injury would go up ten fold if he was dumped in to a fountain by some drunk loser. Yuri wanted to live his life with a bit more edge, sure, but he wanted to do it on his own terms, and he wasn’t willing to risk his career because of a bunch of bullies. “It’s fucking winter! Put me down now! Put me down! What do you want?!”

He watched the wicked grin spread across the women’s gold medalist’s face before she tapped a finger against her cheek, pretending to think through her demands, her pose and movements an exact match for Mila. Yuri wanted to scratch her pretty eyes out. “Hmm. Will you promise not to be so rude to my brother and friends then?” she answered sweetly.

Yuri lost it.

“You kidding me?! You fucking kidding me?!” He shrieked, losing the tension in his muscles for one terrifying second and feeling Nekola’s fingers dig in to his stomach. He tightened his core again as best he could, wishing his eyes weren’t filling with tears. Wishing he didn’t feel so humiliated and exposed, a stupid wish considering how exposed he physically was - held up in the air like the ball in some game of piggy in the middle. “You think I’M the rude one?! Your idiot brother and your stupid friends don’t so much as look at me let alone speak to me the whole season then you tease me and threaten to dump me in a fucking fountain! Put me down! Put me down! Put me down!”

“Oh come on,” Sara taunted back. “We didn’t speak to you? You ignored us! Just how long is the GPF gold medalist planning on playing the grouchy stray cat, hmm? From one gold medalist to another, Yuri Plisetsky, you need to grow up and do it fast. No one wants to party with a little kid.”

A second later he was dumped back on the paving stones, catching himself before he sustained a serious injury but still landing heavily on his left knee. He was going to have a bruise there come morning, to go with the one on his hip from last week’s practice, but at least it wasn’t anywhere visible. When Yakov saw bruises he got on Yuri’s case about overdoing things or pushing his body too hard. Grandpa said that Yakov just worried about him but Yuri found it cloying. He didn’t want to explain this night to his coach. He didn’t want to have to explain this night to anyone. It was too embarrassing. He most definitely didn’t sniff when he thought about how dumb he felt right then. He absolutely definitely didn’t let a tear slip when he thought about what Otabek would probably think of him.

“No one would want to party with me anyway,” he muttered, hair hanging down over his face, hating himself for admitting it out loud. “Even the one friend I do have thinks I’m too boring and little to hang out with.”

Nekola and the stupid Crispino twins were still laughing about throwing him around, about putting him in his place, but Mila turned, her eyes way too sharp considering how many drinks she’d most likely had.

“Otabek called you boring?” she asked, sounding so shocked that Yuri blinked up in equal surprise. 

“Well,” he shrugged, using the movement to hide the subtle wiping away of tears. “Not exactly, but-”

Mila tutted. “Try putting yourself in Otabek’s shoes, Yuri. Friends or not, he just lost to you in your senior debut. He’s three years older than you. He’s been working at this longer than you. All of the other men have. I’m guessing none of them want to hang out with you tonight, Manyotka. Why not leave Otabek to himself just for tonight?”

Yuri had almost been ready to consider her opinion until she called him Manyotka: Little One. He wasn’t little, he was a competitor in the senior division, same as the rest of them, they should be considered equals. It wasn’t fair! And Otabek was his friend! He just didn’t get that Otabek would do that, would be his friend before the competition, and even after the Short Program, but leave him in the dust after the final result. It didn’t make sense and he didn’t have any context to understand it. He’d never had a real friend before - someone who actually wanted to hang out with him and said that they were friends in plain terms.

“Why should I have to leave him alone when he’s my friend?” The words exploded out of him and he hated that maybe he was showing in some way that he was young and inexperienced and... stupid. But no matter how much he wanted to stop it, the words kept coming, just like always, like a broken tap that wouldn’t shut off. “If he’s pissed at me he should just come out and say so!” he yelled, wanting to wipe the sympathetic look from Mila’s face. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t let her think he was such a loser. “I’ve got something I wanna say to him, so I’m gonna find him, no matter what it takes!”

Okay, Yuri admitted to himself, that wasn’t entirely true. He didn’t actually have just one thing he wanted to say to Otabek, no big announcement, even if Mila was looking at him with that ‘cat who’s got the cream’ expression. She probably thought he had some sort of secret to confess, but he didn’t. He just wanted to be able to talk to his friend, someone who was even remotely close to his age, someone who, a day ago, had seemed to understand what it was like to be competing internationally without any real family support. Otabek had been looking after himself as an adult for years now, so he’d told Yuri, and hired a motorbike wherever he went in the world, to ensure he had independence. He was like a hero to Yuri, only better because he’d actually said that he liked him. Not that he could explain that to Mila.

“Oh, Yuuuuuuri!” she cooed, pouting at him and swaying forward with her hands behind her back, so obvious that even her dumb drunk friends had noticed. “Surely you can tell me! What do you need to tell him, Yuri? I can keep a secret.”

“No!” Yuri glared up at her, feeling his cheeks heating even more than they already had, making him feel so hot he actually felt nauseous. “As if I’d ever tell you? I just need to talk to Otabek. And if I can’t find him...” he sucked in a deep breath, hoping his unwanted audience at least understood the magnitude of the situation. “I won’t do the exhibition skate!”

He’d hoped for some sort of reaction, something other than an eye roll from Mila but the silly little gasp from Sara’s brother was worse. “Can’t you say anything without it sounding like a threat?” the idiot asked him, hand held dramatically to his chest, as if he was clutching a set of invisible pearls. Worse than that was Nekola’s laughter as he called Yuri a naughty kitty, making Yuri wish he didn’t understand the fool’s drunken, broken, english. He wanted to be taken seriously and instead they were just teasing him worse.

“Ugh,” Mila scowled at him, all pretense of sympathy gone from her attitude as she looked down on him. “Is this your way of demanding that we help you find Otabek? Are you serious? And don’t just yell at me, okay? You sound like a whiny toddler when you yell.”

Yuri wanted to tell her to go to hell but he really did want her help, whether he was willing to admit it or not. There were still tears itching at his eyes but he didn’t want to let them fall, didn’t want Mila to have any more proof that he was too young to deal with all of this - any of this. He considered just yelling at her again, which had usually worked in the past, but she was giving him a look that said she’d had enough and her words were circling in his head, telling him that she was right, that he sounded like a baby when he yelled, when he’d always been trying to achieve the exact opposite.

Instead he just nodded, jaw clamped shut, trying to hide the overwhelming tide of emotions he was feeling but couldn’t identify or control. He didn’t trust the look Mila was giving him, how closely she was studying him, or the way Sara had walked over to join her, a thoughtful pout on her full lips as she draped herself over the welcoming redhead. 

“Mila,” she whined (Yuri wanted to call her out for it but bit his tongue instead). “This is going to be a pain if we can’t hurry up and get this over with. I wanna keep dancing. Let’s just help him locate his crush and send him back to the hotel.”

“He’s not my crush!” Yuri snapped bac, the words flying out too fast for him to stop them, but Sara only rolled her eyes and grabbed his phone from his hand.

“Whatever, she shrugged, opening his contacts. “Let’s just work together to find some info on Otabek.”

Yuri desperately wanted to snatch his phone back but couldn’t seem to move to do it, even when Sara opened his contacts and quickly scrolled through them. He turned instead to Mila, who was still staring at him, looking him up and down the way she studied videos of past competitions. It was unnerving, and the prickly, uncomfortable feeling only got worse when Sara nudged her and pointed out that Yuri only had twelve contacts saved in his phone. 

“Huh,” was all Mila said for a long moment before she began to tap at his phone, her lips twitching up in just the hint of a smile. “Not a huge friends list here, Yuri, but there sure are a lot of photos of cats...” Yuri was ready to really yell at her now because how dare she go searching through his phone. He didn’t care that she’d offered to help him, he’d just find his way back to the hotel and spend what was left of his night wallowing in self-pity. But before he could do anything Mila had turned to him with her arm outstretched, finger pointed, and hair flicked back in a perfect imitation of Victor at his most dramatic. If he hadn’t been so confused and terrified of what she would do next, he’d have been impressed. “Okay, Yuri, here’s the deal: we’ll tell you the numbers of some other skaters, people who might be Otabek’s friends. But you have to call them yourself! Who knows, you might even make a few more friends yourself!” 

Yuri wasn’t sure what to say, or how exactly to react. They were looking at him and he hated it because his face was redder than ever and he had no way to escape what was possibly the most embarrassing situation he’d ever been in. A second later Celestino and Nekola were crowding around him too, laughing and joking as if they hadn’t been threatening to dunk him in a fountain only a minute before. He wondered how they had the details of so many other skaters, even ones they’d never shared a rink with, but it was hard to think when he was having phone numbers and email addresses thrown at him from all directions. When they finally calmed down Yuri held his phone out in front of him, looking at Leo de la Iglesia’s number, ready and waiting for his call. He looked up, knowing he probably looked as terrified and panicked as he felt, but Mila’s smile wasn’t as mocking as it usually was. If anything it looked... kind.

“Come on, Yuri,” she told him, pressing the call button followed by the speaker one. “You’re just asking ‘round about a friend, right? Just think about how you’ve beaten the ass of every person you’re going to talk to, okay? It’s only a phone call. You’re Yuri Plisetsky. You can do this.”

A moment later the call connected and Yuri tried to remember how to speak.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Amiratazz, who's kindness convinced me to keep writing this fic.

“Hello?”

‘Shit!’ Yuri thought viciously. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit Shit.’

“Shit...” he whispered, feeling his cheeks turn beet red that he’d spoken out loud, and that the he was genuinely terrified. He’d made it his whole persona to be fierce and fearless and it felt like deflating to show so publicly that he wasn’t the tiger he so desperately wanted to be. It was as bad as crying at the end of his free skate. It made him feel small - smaller - a voice in his head added with a snicker, and Yuri curled his fingers tight around his phone. He could do this. Other, dumber, people made phone calls all the time and he was better than them. He could do this. 

“Hello?” the voice on the other end of the phone line repeated, making Yuri want to immediately curl up and die in the street. No! Shit! He could do this. “This is Leo speaking, who’s calling please?”

“Uh, hi,” Yuri began, trying to turn his face away from Mila’s smug grin and the gawking faces of her stupid friends as he struggled to find his confidence again. His hands were shaking as he clutched his phone, white knuckled. Being afraid of a voice down a phone line was fricking dumb and having other people see how much it panicked him was humiliating and he hated it so much he was about ready to just give up and walk away. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He wanted to find Otabek. He needed to. Even if his brain had short circuited to the point that, at that very moment, he couldn’t even remember why. “This is, uh, Yuri Plisetsky,” he tried again, clearing his throat. “And, uh-”

“Yuri Plisetsky! Are you kidding me!? It’s really you?” Leo screamed down the phone, scaring Yuri so bad he nearly dropped his phone. “CONGRATS ON GOLD!! You made history! You were so amazing! I was cheering for you all night!”

“Um... Th-thanks,” Yuri stuttered. He hadn’t been expecting Leo’s level of enthusiasm. They didn’t really know each other and he couldn’t imagine that if their roles were reversed he’d be so excited to speak to the guy who’d just won the Grand Prix with a score he’d never be able to even come close to. Shouldn’t Leo hate him? Maybe he was being sarcastic. Maybe it was just a weird American thing. “Look, uh,” he stumbled on, hunching his shoulders as Mila and Sara crowded in closer, giggling stupidly at whatever expression they thought they saw on Yuri’s face. “I sort of need to ask for a favour...” 

“SERIOUSLY?!” Yuri jumped again, fumbling the phone as Leo began to exclaim loudly again, assuring him with more enthusiasm than Yuri figured he’d ever used in his whole life. He wasn’t sure why his fellow figure skaters were so over the top, it didn’t feel particularly mature, which made it doubly dumb that He was the one always being told to grow up and stop acting so emotional. He glared at the phone. It was stupid. He needed to get this over with and just find Otabek.

“Yah, seriously,” he interrupted, not caring that Leo had been describing Yuri’s short program skate in extreme detail. “Look, I need to, um... to talk to Otabek about something really important and, um... I know you’re his... friend.” Saying that word made his stomach turn, like it was full of live eels trying desperately to get out, but he wasn’t about to puke all over his damned phone. Mila and her friends would tease him beyond belief if he did that. 

Friends. His stomach turned again. Otabek and Leo were friends. Otabek had mentioned the American skater two times while he’d been talking about his time in training in the U.S. and it had taken absolutely all of Yuri’s self-control (which he definitely did have no matter what Yakov liked to yell at him at every single training session) to keep his cool and not explode in a fiery ball of jealous rage. It shouldn’t have surprised him. Of course Leo de la Iglesia got to be friends with Otabek. Leo was cool. Leo could surf and rollerblade and breakdance, and yeah, maybe Yuri only knew that because he’d looked Leo up on YouTube the night before to see what Otabek saw in the guy, but it was also another harsh reminder that everyone was more interesting than Yuri Plisetsky, loner extraordinaire.

“Hey, Yuri? You still there?” Yuri jumped, blinking himself back to the present, blushing, again, and biting on his lip. He hadn’t meant to zone out, he’d just been thinking so hard about Otabek and not being cool enough, not being interesting or mature or- “Yuri?”

“Oh, yeah,” he mumbled. “Sorry. It’s just. I need to talk to Otabek. It’s important. He’s my... friend... too.” He looked up with a glare at the exaggerated ‘Aw!’ that Mila and Sara let out in infuriating unison, but didn’t let himself get distracted again. “But he’s out seeing another ‘friend’ DJ, or something, and he’s not answering his phone and I don’t know if he has an Instagram account or anything, to help me figure out where he went, so... um...”

Yuri wasn’t actually sure what he was supposed to be asking for exactly. He was pretty certain that Mila just wanted him to humiliate himself in front of as many people as possible. But instead of telling him he was weird or a loser, Leo acted like Yuri was giving him some sort of honour. 

“Oh sure! Sure!” he enthused, sounding far too enthusiastic and... American. It made Yuri want to punch him, which he couldn’t do because there was a chance the idiot might actually help him, and of course because punching people through the phone wasn’t something Yuri could actually, physically, do. Yet. “He keeps his Insta on private but I can check it out and see if he’s put anything up there! He’s so weird about his phone, though, seriously, it’s not you. He once didn’t call me back or answer my texts for a week - and I sent, like, ten of them! - and then when we finally saw each other it turned out he’d misplaced his cell and just couldn’t be bothered with finding it! Like it was no big thing! Crazy, right?”

“Yah,” Yuri said through tight lips, his brows furrowed. “Crazy.” He couldn’t really imagine anyone texting him like that, and he really couldn’t imagine ignoring texts from a friend. The only person who ever sent him friendly messages was Yuuko and he wouldn’t dream of leaving her on ‘Read’ without responding straight away. She was basically his big sister. “So you’ll really help me figure out where he is? Really?”

“For sure! Yuri, of course,” Leo laughed and Yuri shuffled self-consciously. Mila had crept in to his line of sight and was giving him a weird expression that he couldn’t read, like he was a cat she wanted to adopt. He’d have to remember to tell her that he wasn’t a damned kitten, no matter how many of the god-awful cat headbands she collected off his fans and tried to give him. But for now he needed to figure out why Leo was being so nice. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because we don’t really know each other? Because we’re competitors?” Yuri pointed out, rolling his eyes. “Why would you help me?”

Leo laughed again, all light and cheerful, even though Yuri was pretty sure it was late as hell over in the U.S. which definitely made Leo totally odd, and maybe not as cool as Yuri had previously thought. Strangely, instead of making him want to yell the guy out for being a loser, it made Yuri want to possibly, maybe, smile. Just a little. 

“Dude, what are friends for, am I right?” 

Yuri blinked. “Uh...” 

Leo didn’t expect him to know how to answer that question, did he? Thankfully, Leo didn’t wait for an answer, he went right on talking, reminding Yuri a little of Yuuko when she got started on one of her favourite topics - figure skating, the triplets, and cats - and he actually found that he didn’t mind it. It was probably a sign of how mature he was getting, that he could tolerate people more, or maybe it was that Leo had been rambling about how much he’d loved Yuri’s free skate and had known Yuri would win the Grand Prix Final even before the season started, based on his Juniors’ program the year before, and Yuri couldn’t deny that it felt good to hear that sort of praise, free of any sort of critique or criticism, from someone who actually knew what he was looking at.

“But hey,” Leo continued happily. “How about I play super sleuth for you, huh? I can call around to Ji and Seung-gil and a few others f you like, then call you back when I get something? Otabek’s got friends in Barcelona, his ex-boyfriend works at a club there, and he’s DJ’ed at the Primavera Sound Festival there too, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find him. Just leave it to me, okay?”

Yuri frowned. “Okay, I guess. You really don’t mind?” Sure, Leo was acting nice, and Otabek trusted him enough to call him a friend, and Yuri trusted Otabek enough to trust his taste in friends - he’d consistently snubbed JJ at every opportunity and called him a ‘moose chaser’, whatever that meant - so Yuri figured he had good taste. But still. 

“I don’t mind at all! Happy to help, buddy. More than happy. Leave it to me! They don’t call me, ‘Leo the Internet Detective’ for nothing!”

Yuri’s frowned deepened and he looked up. Mila just raised an eyebrow, Sara looked amused; Yuri wasn’t sure how serious Leo was being. “Do they really call you that?”

“Well, no,” Leo admitted a little bashfully. “But you can if you want!”

This time Yuri grinned, just for a second “How ‘bout I just call you Leo?”

The excited noises that exploded down the line forced Yuri to hold the phone at arm’s length but he wanted to smile too. Even though it was stupid and probably childish to feel all bubbly at the idea of someone being excited over him who wasn’t one of his crazed fans. He let Leo babble out a stream of thank you’s and promises to call or text him back as soon as he found out where Otabek was, and then forced himself through the awkward process of ending the call. 

He was shaking by the time he punched the End Call button, feeling the anxiety and adrenaline start to drain as his body processed that he’d made it through the phone call without puking, swearing his head off, or throwing his mobile in to the fountain he’d nearly ended up in himself. Leo was actually going to help him, and wanted them to be friends. It was confusing, and when he looked up and saw Mila looking all doe-eyed at him, it just got more baffling.

“What?” he asked suspiciously, ready to bolt if she tried anything, but before he could run Sara had thrown her arms around him from behind and Mila followed suit from the front, squishing him until he had no choice but to squirm and yell and demand that they release him immediately. Mila just cuddled him harder and pressed her cheek to the top of his head.

“Ooh, Yuri! I’m so proud of you! You did it! I didn’t think you would, but you did! Well done!”

“I had no idea that Otabek was a DJ,” Sara gushed, pressing her boobs in to the back of Yuri’s head in a way that felt really weird and uncomfortable, even though Yuri was sure that idiots like JJ would probably say he was a lucky man to be so close to two fit female athletes. Yuri just wanted his personal space back. He didn’t trust Mila when she was acting nice. He didn’t know Sara well enough to trust her at all, not when she hung out with losers like Crispino and Nekola. Not to mention that she and Mila were definitely strong enough to try and toss him in the fountain again if he crossed them.

“He really is a dark horse,” Mila cooed back at Sara, speaking over his head. “But if he’s gone out to see his ‘ex-boyfriend’,” she said, accentuating the last word oddly, so that Yuri pulled a face in confusion. “Yuri! Oh, Yuri! Why didn’t you say before! Of course you need to go tell Otabek how you feel! Ooh! It’s so sweet! Come on! We need to get you dolled up! Let’s go back to the hotel and get you ready! Sara and I can lend you things if you need. Come on, come on, come on!”

Yuri pulled back, finally escaping both women, stumbling so bad as he did so that he nearly fell flat on his ass. No way would Mila just decide to be nice. No way would she offer to lend him her things. Mila was only nice to him when she was setting him up for a fall or was teasing him. He wasn’t going to walk in to one of her traps, not this time.

“No way!” he spat back at her. “Why would I trust you to help me. You just want to make me look stupid, you wanted to throw me in a fountain. You’ll probably just try and dress me up like a clown. Why the hell would I trust you to help me, hag?”

Mila pouted, swaying the way the Nishigori triplets did when they were caught doing something they knew was against the rules. The triplets could make it work (on their dad at least) but Mila just looked ridiculous, like an overgrown kid, and Yuri told her so. He was ready to sprint away as soon as the words piled out of his mouth, but Mila just laughed and waved his words away. Sara laughed too and ruffled his hair, leaning against him and pouting her own lips just like Mila had.

“Come on, Yuri, I’m sorry,” Mila pleaded, sounding suspiciously genuine. “Please let me sexy you up so you can get in to whatever club Otabek’s at? Please? If Sara and I go in with you you’re more likely to get past the bouncers, and we can make sure that you look so good Otabek will have to notice you. Please, Yuri? Yuri?”

Yuri sighed and tried to bat Sara away from his hair, but it was no good. “Fine,” he huffed. “But you’re not bringing those two idiots. I don’t want them anywhere near my room, or-”

He turned to where he’d last seen Sara’s brother and his dumb friend, but instead of standing around or doing... whatever it was guys like them did... Yuri’s jaw dropped at the sight of Crispino and Nekola making out against a lamp post like a pair of over-enthusiastic monkeys. Gross. Yuri shut his mouth quickly and turned away. He couldn’t look at that. If he looked at that he’d feel... what? Jealous? No! Yuri clenched his fist so tight his fingernails bit in to his palm. No. He didn’t feel any of that. If he looked at what they were doing he was pretty sure he could see their tongues moving and hear the wet sounds they were making and it was just - Yuri tried to think of another way to describe it - gross. It was like they were trying to eat each others faces and they were both swaying and nearly falling over every other second.

“We’ll leave them here,” Sara whispered with a chuckle. “They’ll be fine. Trust me. Come on now. Let me make things up to you for before. I’m a little drunk and I got all carried away. I didn’t realise why you needed to talk to Otabek so bed, but I understand. Truly. We’ve got to stick together after all. I can do your make-up for you if you want. Please?” Yuri looked up at the Italian skater. She seemed genuine; there was even a bit of sadness in her eyes. “Come on, Yuri. Friends?”

She stepped back and held out her hand, and Yuri felt his heart squeeze in his chest. He wasn’t so sure that she did understand why he wanted to find Otabek. He definitely didn’t understand what she meant about sticking together. Did she mean figure skaters? GPF gold medalists? People whose best friends were going to be leaving for other countries in two days? Whatever. She was offering to help him get to Otabek and get his attention. He took her hand and gave it a firm shake, unable to stop the smile which flickered across his lips when he saw her breathe a sigh of relief.

“Can you do smokey eye?” he asked eventually. “I’ve always wanted to try that. I think it’d go good with an outfit I bought yesterday, with Otabek. “He glanced over at Mila who was looking at him with a ridiculous amount of excitement. “You really think you can get me past a bouncer so I can talk to Otabek?”

A second later Yuri’s ears were pierced by squealing in stereo before he was squeezed again between the two women as they hugged him fiercely. He tried to wriggle his way free, and to threaten and insult them in to letting him go, but it was no good, and eventually Yuri resigned himself to the group hug. Girls were strange and he didn’t get them at all. He still wasn’t sure why they wanted to help him, or why they were suddenly being nice to him, but he was going to take their help if it meant getting to see Otabek. Maybe they could even help him to look more interesting, more mature and less like the kid that Otabek obviously thought he was. He needed to talk to Otabek, and he needed help to do it.


	5. Chapter 5

“This is bullshit,” Yuri grumbled, glaring at Mila as he tugged off the flamingo pink tank top she’d insisted he try. 

Mila’s only response was a wolf whistle that turned in to a laugh when Yuri threw the shirt in her direction and it fell short by half a meter. Why had he ever agreed to let Mila and Sara in to his room? He must have been completely out of his mind. It certainly hadn’t been because they’d paid for the Uber back to their hotel or because they’d snuck him past JJ and his crew in the hotel bar or because they’d promised to sneak him back out again and get him safely to the club that Otabek was apparently not just attending but DJing at! Yuri wasn’t good at being grateful and he didn’t intend to even try whilst Mila was giggle snorting at him and making dumb, drunk, lurid comments about every outfit she’d forced Yuri to try on.

“Stop laughing at me, hag!” he yelled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Shut Up! Shut Up! SHUT UP!” 

He didn’t need her mocking his undersized body, not when he was already painfully aware of how small and young he was next to every other guy in the seniors devision. Even Phichit looked solid compared to Yuri, and he hated the bitter taste that came with coming to terms with the fact that, even though he had beaten them all, he still, somehow, wasn’t considered an equal amongst the other skaters. 

“Aw,” Mila pouted, standing from where she’d been perched on the end of Yuri’s hotel bed to scoop up the rejected slip of fabric. “I wasn’t really laughing at you, Yurochka. Promise! You look good! I know you’ve been all self-conscious about the whole,” she waved her arms about vaguely in the air, “Prima Ballerina thing, since JJ made such a big deal out of it, but you shouldn’t care about that moron. Anyway, from what I heard from Emil, Otabek put the fear of Kazakhstan in to him and threatened to shave JJ’s eyebrows in his sleep if he didn’t knock it off and stop teasing you for the way you look.”

“What?” Yuri stared at her in disbelief, mouth open wide, eyebrows creating extreme angles to match his extreme disbelief. “Why would... why would Otabek do that?”

Mila gave him a look that she usually reserved for her meathead boyfriends. It was a look that said: ‘you’re lucky you’re so cute ‘cos you’re as thick as potato mash.’ Yuri wasn’t sure he deserved it but had to admit that he really did want to know her answer, which probably meant he was stupider than he looked.

“He’s your best friend, isn’t he?” Mila grinned in response, her words echoed by a peel of laughter from Sara, who was digging through Yuri’s closet, even though most of his clothing was already scattered across the entire room. 

“Don’t tease me, hag,” Yuri snapped warningly, but Mila just rolled her eyes, grinning down at Yuri’s arms, still hugged across his chest.

“I wasn’t teasing, okay? Otabek obviously likes you a lot. We all saw that little thumbs up thing you two’ve got going. And you’re the one who called him your best friend.” She threw her pink top back in to her bag and bent to pull another from its depths. Yuri sighed. At least it was black, even if it seemed just as insubstantial as the last one. “Why wouldn’t Otabek want to defend you from some dick making a fuss over how you look?”

Yuri turned away from her quickly, not wanting her to see that he’d started blushing all over again, but instead came face to face with his own glaring expression in the mirror. Suddenly Sara let out a squeal and pulled something triumphantly from the small closet, waving it around like she was having some sort of fit. Her giggling was starting to get to him, despite the fact that he’d decided that she was tolerable as a person to hang around with, but her squealing was worse. He’d almost thought she’d fallen asleep in the damned wardrobe, she’d been in there so long and there were so few things in it. Most of what Yuri traveled with was hoodies, jeans, and work-out clothes - stuff he didn’t have to worry about carrying much for or (god forbid) ironing. One of the exceptions was his suit for the banquet, and Sara seemed to have found the other. 

“Where did you get this!?”

Yuri turned, tight lipped, to look at the light-weight blazer she held, the shimmering fabric sparkling, even in the yellow light of the hotel room. He blushed deeper, avoiding the mirror which would only show him that his chest was now turning as red as his face. That purchase had been a mistake. Yakov would kill him if he ever saw it.

“I bought it here. The other day. What of it?” 

“It’s perfect!” Sara exclaimed, surprising Yuri enough that his arms dropped to his sides. “It’s so hot! I need to take you shopping with me if you can find gems like this!”

Yuri glared, looking for any trace that she was teasing him again. She’d been doing a lot of it, shifting between cheeky jibes and cooing encouragements which just made Yuri confused and suspicious. 

“Otabek found it, actually,” he admitted, looking away from her large, sparkling eyes and delighted expression. “We were... shopping, and... I joked that it was pointless ‘cos neither one of us wears anything but black jeans or track suits. He dared me to buy it.” He shrugged, trying to hide the smile at how easily they’d talked and joked and teased each other, never having to worry about straying over the line and accidentally causing offense. Despite his quite, closed demeanor, Otabek gave as good as he got and had a sharp enough mind to match Yuri’s almost every time, which was a rarity and something Yuri treasured fiercely. Their shopping trip had ended with several rather ‘out there’ purchases for them both and Yuri’s cheeks had hurt for hours afterwards from all the smiling he’d done. Talking about it with anyone seemed sacrilege.

“Aw!” 

Yuri felt his eye twitch at hearing the girls exclaim in stereo. He wasn’t a little kid so why were they constantly acting like he was so cute.

“Shut. Up.” Yuri said through clenched teeth, eyes shut tight. “I’m not some dumb kid! I’m not! So stop acting like everything I say and do is so fucking cute!”

He expected to hear another round of laughter or cooing or god-only-knew-what because now that Mila and Sara had decided they liked him they also seemed to have decided he was some sort of pet - or toddler they were babysitting - but after a moment of silence he opened one eye, glancing over at Sara, unsure of what he would see. Sympathy was not what he’d expected.

“Oh, sweetie,” she said gently, stepping forward to place her palm against his cheek. “I’m sorry. We know you’re not really a child. We tease but... anyone who saw your program... anyone who’s seen you skate, seen your quads, seen your passion!” She smiled, all dewey eyes and perfect teeth, recalling to Yuri’s mind the poster he’d once had of her in his bedroom, the year she’d won gold at the age of only seventeen, and he saw something beneath the photogenic facade. Sara had been thrust in to the senior division at the same age as Yuri and, though not as spectacular as Yuri, she had been in the international spotlight from an early age. Yuri swallowed thickly. It felt good and yet painful all at once - a little like when Otabek had asked if they could be friends - like someone truly saw him for who he was and wasn’t put off by it.

“We joke,” Mila added, draping herself over him so that she could rest her chin on his shoulder. “But that’s all it is. You and me, Yuri, we’ve always joked around. It’s what friends do, right? And honestly, I wasn’t whistling at you sarcastically. You might not be some big beefcake but you’re body is an athlete’s body, Yuri. A man’s body, not a child’s body. If you’ll let us help you show it off right, I promised you, Otabek will be putty in your hands.”

Yuri smiled tentatively, though it failed and went back to it’s usual scowl the second Sara flung her arms around him and Mila in a ‘friendship hug’. She really was still tipsy, and far too emotional and touchy in general but she was also... okay. Which was a surprise. But more surprising still was the knowledge that both Mila and Sara acknowledged that he wasn’t a child. He was young, yeah, but he had skated better than any of the men older than him, Sara had said so. And he was short, maybe, but Mila didn’t think his body was that of a kid or a girl. And-

“Wait,” he said, stiffening enough that the two women caught on to his body language and gave him some space. “Why would I want Otabek to be putty? He’s my friend. I just want to talk to him. Why does it matter to Otabek what I wear? I thought we were just dressing up to get in to the club?”

Mila shifted around to give him a look that Yuri despised, even if he didn’t understand what it meant. Meanwhile Sara had flounced back to the wardrobe to pull out one of the few things left on a hanger. Yuri blushed at the sight of the item she showed off to the room. Shit, Yuri thought. They looked even tighter than they had in the store. And more... suggestive.

“These trousers,” Sara purred, smiling playfully. “Tell me, did Otabek suggest you buy these as well? Because,” her smile widened as Yuri’s slight nod. “when a friend encourages a ‘friend’ to buy something like this, because - let me guess - he said they look amazing on you?” Yuri didn’t even need to nod, his beetroot red cheeks were enough and Sara looked triumphant. “When a friend does something like that, they’re just asking to be turned to putty.”

Her wink was enough to make Yuri’s cheeks, neck, and entire chest turn the colour of borsht and suddenly he wondered whether it would have been better to do what everyone expected of him and go to bed early with Netflix and room service. But no, he wasn’t a kid, and he really did want to get Otabek’s attention, to be seen as an adult and an equal and a... Yuri glanced at the super tight pleather trousers... a man. And Mila and Sara were smiling at him excitedly, which was nice and weird and new, and they were smiling because they wanted to help him and spend time with him and be his friend. 

Yuri bit his lip and stared at the trousers and blazer in Sara’s arms. He hadn’t honestly thought he’d ever wear them anywhere but had to admit that it would be fun to see Otabek’s face when he turned up wearing the outfit Otabek had dared him to buy. Otabek wouldn’t be able to ignore him then. And then maybe - maybe - they could talk about more than just skating and Yuri’s program for the gala performance.

“Right,” Yuri said, mostly to himself as he nodded and accepted the artfully ripped tank top that Mila offered. “Right, yeah. Putty. Let’s do this. He thinks he can just ride off when I need to talk to him. He thinks he can treat me like a little kid after he Asked me to be his friend. Hmph. We’ll see about that.” 

He turned to look at himself in the mirror. Mila’s top was pretty genius. It showed off the muscle he’d gained and the baby fat he’d lost over the last year and was androgynous in style without making him look particularly feminine. He could imagine how he might look when he paired this top with those tight trousers and flashy blazer. He grinned in the mirror, noting the wicked glint in his eyes.

“You’ll do my make-up? And you’ll come with me? In to the club?” Sara nodded, catching his enthusiasm and biting her lip in delight. Mila ran to pull her cosmetics case from her bag. “Fine. Then let’s do it. Let’s turn them all to putty.”

Otabek wasn’t going to know what hit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a long time coming, mostly due to several stints in hospital where the wifi is non-existent. Trying to get back in to it now tho.   
> Thank you for reading. xx


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